


Small Talk

by Rehearsal_Dweller



Category: Maleficent (Disney Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 16:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21304880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehearsal_Dweller/pseuds/Rehearsal_Dweller
Summary: Diaval found himself thinking, anxiously, stupidly, that he’d never even had a chance to explain that silly human custom to her; he worried now that he never would.
Relationships: Aurora & Diaval & Maleficent, Diaval/Maleficent (Disney)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 486





	Small Talk

**Author's Note:**

> You know, sometimes I just see a movie and come out _dying_ to write a fic. So here we are.  
The boy and I have been talking since we saw Mistress of Evil about how much we wanted to see the payoff for Diaval's "it's small talk, I'll explain it later" comment, so this happened.  
(At least Maleficent has a bigger fandom than Finding Nemo, so people might actually read this one!)

Diaval was almost certain that he, personally, was not expected at this dinner. Not by Phillip’s parents, at least. Aurora tended to expect him to be anywhere Maleficent was, as did Maleficent herself. The case remained that he was not strictly speaking _invited_ to dinner. He’d be shocked if the king and queen even knew he existed, let alone that his attendance would be mandated by their known guests. He didn’t mind this in the slightest, rather preferring to let the women in his life take the spotlight and linger in the shadows himself.

Although, he thought while he watched Maleficent practice her greeting to her reflection in the stream, perhaps allowing her all of everyone’s attention wasn’t such a good idea.

He tried, as they approached the castle and the daunting prospect of a meal with Phillip’s family, to keep the mood light. This was no easy feat, given the tension in Maleficent’s shoulders and the stress simmering behind her eyes. He chatted about whatever caught his eye with a smile on his face.

There was nothing he could have done, though, that would have prevented the awkward, tense moment when they first arrived. (Not even to begin to speak of what happened later.)

“I trust you had no trouble finding us?”

“Why would I have?”

Diaval waved a servant off and used helping Maleficent with her cloak to lean in close. He made sure, just for a moment, that he was the only person in her field of vision, willing that familiarity to anchor her somewhat. “He’s making _small talk_. I’ll explain it later.”

She looked at him with an expression that would _almost_ contain a smile if she weren’t so tense. If she weren’t, also, her. He stepped back, breaking their little moment.

“I’d like to introduce you to Diaval,” Aurora said, because somehow between Maleficent and the pixies and himself, they’d raised quite a polite and thoughtful woman. Though her tone didn’t give her away, Diaval fancied he could just about hear the other words on the tip of her tongue. _He’s my godmother’s companion, _he almost heard, or maybe, _he’s her raven. _

(She’d never say _he’s my godfather, after a fashion_, because they didn’t _say_ that, however true it may be.)

Dinner was, unfortunately, an unqualified disaster. Diaval had known the odds of it going over entirely well were pretty slim, but even he’d been surprised by just how poorly the whole thing went. Then again, it’s hard to predict that a queen is going to start throwing thinly veiled insults and accusations while pushing the tension up to bait her honored guest into lashing out.

He watched Aurora’s heart break.

(He felt Maleficent’s; the emotion rolled off of her in waves, tangled up in her magic.)

The only thing worse than leaving Aurora behind was that Diaval found himself plowing into Moorish dirt without Maleficent at his side either. He spent the night looking for her, asking everyone he came across with increasing desperation. He knew she’d been hurt, her magic faltering uncontrollably. But no one had seen her.

No one.

He found himself thinking, anxiously, stupidly, that he’d never even had a chance to explain that silly human custom to her; he worried now that he never would. Never mind that if he never saw her again he’d also be stuck in this ridiculous form for the rest of his life – he wasn’t sure he’d live long enough for it to be of much concern.

Come the morning, when he heard Aurora’s voice, he found he’d never heard a sweeter sound in his entire life. He caught her in a hug, scanning her as he did so for injuries and other distress.

(And distressed she was, but there wasn’t much he could do for it. This wasn’t the hurt of a small child, which could be solved with a game or a distraction or a kiss on the head. This felt like losing a limb.)

Before he knew it, they’d separated again. Diaval had sent his little girl on her way with a pat on the cheek and a smile.

He next caught up with Aurora outside the church for what should have been her wedding, and felt the distant echoes of Maleficent’s magic before he started to change.

And now Aurora is getting married, is _really_ getting married. She looks stunning, even as her dress shifts colors back and forth and little flickers of nerves cross her face. And she has Maleficent walk her down the aisle, her _mother_. They hesitate, smiling at each other, and Diaval takes Maleficent’s elbow, leading her back to where they’ll stand to watch Aurora and Phillip’s vows.

They mostly sit by as the party spins on around them. Phillip and Aurora dance, and everyone dances, and there are food and festivities well into the night. Under lantern light and twinkling stars, the party goes on. Still Diaval sits by the side, just far enough from Maleficent to not brush against her wings when she moves them.

“Diaval,” she says, her eyes following Aurora as she dances with her new husband. “What is ‘small talk’?”

Diaval almost laughs, as an echo of his earlier panic washes over him. “It’s a human thing, mistress. They’re not so direct as ravens or fairies. Small talk is what they call it when they discuss little, unimportant things, because they haven’t anything else to say. Or because it would be inappropriate to say what they do have to say.”

“Interesting,” Maleficent says, sounding disinterested.

“Humans,” says Diaval.

“_Humans_,” agrees Maleficent. She pauses, still watching the dancing. “She looks happy. Our human.”

“That she does. I think she is.”

Maleficent’s got this faint almost-smile on her face and it’s making Diaval’s heart do odd jumping maneuvers in his chest. He thinks for a moment that it might stop beating entirely when she turns that same look on him. He finds at the very least that he’s gone rather breathless.

“Mistress, I –“ He breaks eye contact, turning away to look back at the dancing himself, finding that he can no longer stand to watch her now that she is watching him.

“I’ll have business away from here, very soon,” Maleficent says when Diaval falters. “If you were so inclined, you’d be welcome to stay behind and watch over our Beastie.”

“And if I were inclined otherwise?” Diaval prompts.

“You could come with me.”

“And which, if you don’t mind my asking, would you prefer me to choose?”

Maleficent looks away again, Diaval sees in his periphery. He turns his head toward her again, just for a moment, before returning his gaze to the dance floor.

“I’m sure Aurora will want you here,” she says. Her eyes follow her daughter (their daughter) as she spins toward them, laughing.

“And you, Mistress?”

“Diaval,” Maleficent says, turning toward him fully, shifting her body so it angles toward him and sweeping a wing around to cut them off from the rest of the party. “Surely by now you know I’d prefer you at my side.”

“Surely I _don’t_ know,” says Diaval, feeling bold, “for I’ve never known you to mention it.”

“Diaval,” Maleficent repeats softly.

“Maleficent,” Diaval replies. He rarely, rarely uses her name. Just now, caught up in the moment and the lateness and the festivities, Diaval is almost sure it will coax some honesty from her, where it might otherwise taunt her into turning him back into a bird for his boldness. He softens his tone as he continues, “In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never shown a desire for my company beyond its convenience to you. Beyond the service I provide you.”

Maleficent shifts slightly, her shielding wing curling in a little more. “You – you provide a well-needed counterbalance. To me, I mean.” She almost-smiles again, sending Diaval’s heart aflutter once more. “And I do tend to prefer your presence to the lack of it.”

“I daresay I could say the same of yours,” Diaval replies in a halfhearted attempt at levity. He knows, can feel it as it happens, that some of the broken desperation he felt just days ago, (and all the days since) when he’d been so sure he’d lost her, is bleeding into his voice. He cannot bring himself to stop it. “_Ask me_, Maleficent. I shan’t say no.”

“Come with me?” Maleficent asks, almost before he’s done speaking. “Come with me, we’ll be home before Aurora’s birthday.”

Diaval smiles. “I’m yours. Consider it done.”

Maleficent relaxes, pulling her wing back, but leaving her body angled toward him.

Aurora skips over to them. She looks positively radiant, a delighted smile on her lips. “Godmother! Diaval!”

“Aurora,” Maleficent says, her own nearly blinding smile returning.

“You’ve hardly joined the party,” Aurora says. She shakes her head.

“We’re hardly the party type, Beastie,” says Maleficent. “We’ve a rather bad track record, if you remember.”

“Speak for yourself, Mistress,” Diaval says playfully. He stands, holding a hand out to Aurora. “I’ll join the party, my dear, if you’ll do me the honor of dancing with me.”

“Of course!” replies Aurora, taking his hand and all but dragging him back toward the festivities.

Maleficent’s teasing “You don’t know how to dance, silly bird!” is all but lost to the music, but Diaval glances back, grinning at her, to let her know he heard.

She smiles back, truly smiles.

And Diaval knows he has plenty of time – all the time in the world – for silly human customs, and dancing, and smiles.

(As long as he remembers how to breathe.)


End file.
